All Roads lead to the same place
by Drifter01
Summary: A young minds first attempt at fiction. A story of loss, duty and everyone's favourite ... war.


Hello readers, this is my first uploaded text. I personally don't know the quality, so I can't promise you anything amazing. It's only in it's first stages. I would appreciate reviews, critique away. It can only improve. Hopefully with your help and input I can carry this on. Any ideas please, don't hesitate to put them forward.

So, without further due, please enjoy.

All roads lead to the same place.

"We find peace in death" - unkown.

August 23rd. 2019.

00:12 - Forloan base camp. 2nd light brigade.

Corpoal Anderson layed awake on his bed, wearing his night ware. Staring at the the corner of the cieling, the plaster was starting to rot away. In the corner, a spider had made its web. An uffourtanate fly had been foolish enough to get caught up in the sticky surface of the silk. He wacthed as the helpless pest was approached by a hairy beast, eying its dinner. Circling the fly several times before pouncing an sinking its teeth and venom into it. Disregarding it, Anderson decided that he couldn't sleep. Reaching under his bunk he grabbed his uniform from were he placed only several hours earlier. Pulling up his trousers, he throw his combat shirt on and slabbed on his boots.

Opening the wooden door he walked out of his billots, treading softly as to not to wake the others. The skys area was picth black, however the corpoal moved through the camp with little difficulty. Having traversed the place many times before. The only hinderance was to be the ground beneath him. He cursed through the sludge never the less, he past several patrols, sharing greeting with each one he past. Thinking to himself; "More meat to enter the grinder..."

The corpoal came to a stop at the edge of the camp, here a sentry lay, overlooking the open plains between the camp and the frontline trenches. Getting on his belt buckle he came up beside the sentry, who he recognised as Private. Hills. "Alright james?" The corpoal asked. The private pryd his attention from the sea of darkness and turned to face the corpoal. "Yer, you know me. Enjoying the service I owe to king and country." Anderson laughed quietly. "The model soldier ey?" The private simply replied "Ay." he added." Corpoal, did you cacth when the Major said we'd be being relieved?" Anderson turned to face the plains before aswering. "Sometime soon private. This month if i remeber correctly." The private smiled."Finally, I'll be able to see my sally again. Great lass she is corpoal. Has a heart of gold." The corpoal slapped the back of the private. "Ey yer you lucky bastard. Take the best and leave me with just meself for company." The private laughed quietly. Anderson looked at the private. How he hated lying, they wern't going to be relieved. The major had in fact said there was no relieve coming. "The line is spread thin as it is" he said. How he hated those behind a desk, their only problem being how many men to send to their deaths.

"The line is quiet tonight corpoal. Ain't seen a single shot fired. I tell yer, tis not the shooting, or the sight of death that gnats me, I tell yer, I prefer it to this... silence, least then yer know what to do, an expect. When theirs silence... It gets to yer corpoal, unatural it is, can't think..." Anderson looked blankly at the private for a moment, un-sure what he had just said, being too lost in thought of his anger he owned against those who would casualy dismiss soldiers as cannon fooder. As he went to reply, a deafening sound cracked through the night. In front of him, Anderson saw the lifeless corpse, private Hill lay dead, a bullet straight through the head. The corpoal staired at the bloody body of the private, feeling a sense of despair for the man. It took a explosion behind him to bring the corpoal to his senses. He grabbed the Ma12 assualt rifle from the privates grasp, shouting at the top of his lungs as machingun fire rippled from the plains towards the camp.. "STAND TO! STAND TO!"

"It takes the will of one man..."

September 3rd. 2017.

South essex training camp.

The well kept parade squad was alive with life. Hundreds of raw, fresh recruits were formed up in files, casually chatting with the people around them, managing to somewhat keep in line. Several NCO's were patrolling around the edges of the files, remaining laxed but in control. On the far left of the parade square, atop a flag pole, flapping in the wind, in all its glory. The flag of The United kingdom of Britania. The sky was clear, allowing the suns rays to beam down a gentle warmth.

The recruits were awaiting to be dressed by the Regimental Sargeant Major, or RSM. The only NCO, ever to have the privlage, alongside Sargeant Major. To be addrresed as sir or ma'am. The parade was facing, standing at ease, at a lone building. Its structure was well built, standing proud against the bleak outlook of the training area. Suddenly, the door of the building began to open, immeadiatly a deadly silence was cast over the parade square. Though some figgeting still occured. The duty NCO, evident because of his red sach, called out loudly.

"Parade!"

Every man on the parade square thrust his or her link arms down their back, however were as the NCO's were proffesional about it, the recruits were a bit more casually. The duty NCO called out again.

"Parad-SHUN!"

There was a echo of bangs as everyone stamped in, there was more then the demanded one collect bang however, again the un-prfessionalism came from the recruits. The RSM began to walk smartly down the wooden porch, his uniform was well pressed, his grey hair shaven. The ground beneath his feet created a daunting noice, which echoed across the square. The wind even seemed to of stopped at his presence.

"Your are all here, before me, because you have pleged your loyalty to our country. You are here, before me, because you think you have what it takes to fight for Britain. I am here, before you, to tell you... What a load of crap that is. What you just showed me was not what I expect from a soldier, but filth of society that would def-ile our flag! You think you can be good soldiers? Well!..." The square remained silent.

"WHEN A FUCKING SUPERIOR ASKS YOU A QUESTION YOU FUCKING ANSWER! Good soldiers? I have not seen such a sorry waste of recruits in all my years of service."

A recruit, on the front rank let our a loud burst of laughter. Which, instantly caught the attention of the RSM. Who, moved rather quickly to the recruit. His dominant overshadowing the little man.

"Name." The RSM commanded.

"Anderson." He replied.

"Anderson. Do you not know how to speak to a superior?" The RSM steped back a pace and addressed the whole parade. "The last words out of your god dam mouths will be sir!" He then re-assumed his position directly in fron of Anderson."DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes..." He added after a moments pause."Sir." Suddenly, Anderson found himself face first on the floor, his nose pouring with blood, the bruise which was imprinted by the RSM fist ached with pain

The RSM began to move smartly back towards the building he came out off.

"Does anyone else find me funny?"

The parade replied as one."NO SIR!"


End file.
